


the only thing i dream about anymore is you

by memitims



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Coda, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Season 3, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he was safety, he was home, before you even knew what those words meant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the only thing i dream about anymore is you

When Mickey got back from juvie the second time, his father was home. Terry hadn’t done anything recently to get himself thrown in jail, or at least he hadn’t been  _caught_  doing anything, and that meant he was around a lot, it meant that Mickey was extra careful, it meant that he looked tired and scared at the prospect of going home after work, it meant that he held Ian’s hand extra tight - grounding and reassuring himself - when they fooled around, and everything about it made Ian’s chest ache.

It also meant that Mickey didn’t get enough sleep, the shadows under his eyes getting darker every day.

“You could always stay at my place,” offered Ian, while he sorted the new shipment of fruits and vegetables into their proper places on the display. Mickey grabbed an apple and glared at Ian and took him up on his offer two days later.

They snuck him into the Gallagher house one cold afternoon and Mickey curled up in Ian’s bed, making Ian promise that he would sit by the door and keep the Gallagher brothers out. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that a) Lip already knew, b) Carl wouldn’t care, and c) Liam wouldn’t understand.

Mickey curled up in Ian’s bed and Ian sat on the carpet, his back against the door, and watched Mickey pull the blankets over his body and squeeze his eyes shut.

“Stop looking at me,” Mickey mumbled into the pillow, like he knew what Ian was up to, even with his eyes closed.

Ian quickly looked down at the floor. “I’m not.”

Mickey made a noise like he didn’t believe Ian and he flipped around to face the wall. Ian looked up again, his eyes catching on the way Mickey’s dark hair curled around the nape of his neck, the way he pulled the comforter tight around his body, the way he tucked his knees together under the covers. He looked so fucking small, and Ian wanted to climb into bed too, he wanted to unfurl Mickey’s legs and tangle their legs together, he wanted to press his nose into the back of Mickey’s neck, he wanted Mickey to relax and stop fighting the way it felt when their mouths moved together, but Ian stayed where he was.

They both fell asleep, eventually, the late-afternoon sun peeking through the slats at the bottom of the window shades and washing the whole room in bright orange, and it was dark in his bedroom when Ian woke up. He was uncomfortable and his back hurt and when he opened his eyes and looked up, Mickey was watching him. Mickey quickly averted his eyes.

“Shit,” he said. “It’s late. I gotta get back.”

“Okay,” Ian replied, amused, his heart feeling a little lighter in his chest. He stood up. His mouth was dry and his head was aching and his back hurt, but Mickey was staring across the room with a tiny smile on his face, and nothing else besides that really seemed to matter.

Mickey sat up and swung his legs around, his feet dangling towards the ground. Ian wanted to ask if he’d slept well, if it had been worth it, but then Mickey was striding across the room and quickly pressing his lips to Ian’s, before pulling open the bedroom door and disappearing, leaving Ian to stand there dazedly and press two fingers against his own lips, touching the place where Mickey’s lips had been. It wasn’t the first time Mickey had kissed him, but he still had a hard time believing that any of this was real.

“Bye,” he called out the door, wondering how Mickey was gonna get by Ian’s siblings, if any of them were in the kitchen. Ian figured Mickey would think of something.

\---

Ian’s bed smelled like Mickey for a week after. The whole thing smelled like boy, and sweat, and Mickey’s fucking shampoo. He buried his nose in his pillow and breathed it in. It was stupid, it really was. That’s what fucked Ian over.

He wanted to sleep in a bed that smelled like Mickey, he wanted Mickey to want that back, he wanted to know that the way they kissed - the way Mickey swept his thumb over Ian’s face, the way he smiled into the short kisses and breathed into the long ones -  _meant_  something, he wanted to hold Mickey’s hand and never look back.

It fucked Ian over, because it seemed like they were getting somewhere, like they were getting out, like they could have this for the rest of their lives, but the clock was counting down, not up, and it eventually hit zero.

\---

Turns out, both of them didn’t quite fit in Ian’s bed. They discovered that sometime after Mickey brought Ian home, after Svetlana threatened him in the shower, after he walked up to Fiona in the kitchen and hugged her with everything he had, after Mickey looked at him with sad eyes and kissed Ian like the world was ending.

“You can crash here,” Ian said. “It’s alright.”  
Mickey swallowed, his eyes darting nervously around Ian’s bedroom. “Okay.”

They stood there awkwardly, staring down at Ian’s bed. The dark covers were carefully tucked around the corners of the mattress, and it was the same bed, the one Ian had slept in for years, the one Mickey had found refuge in while his father was home, but something about standing here in the dark with Mickey was different. Maybe they were different. Ian didn’t know. He’d felt weird and jumpy lately, like his skin was too tight, but something about falling back into step with Mickey was calming. It made Ian feel better, to know that he was right there, that he could look over and see Mickey’s arms crossed and his brows furrowed, and he could kiss the frown off of Mickey’s face, and it made him feel safe after feeling so lost and alone and vulnerable for months.

Ian nudged Mickey’s shoulder.

“Fuck, alright.” Mickey’s voice was soft, the way it was after sex, or when he said Ian’s name, or the way he talked about Mandy when she wasn’t around.

Mickey pulled back the covers and climbed in. Ian followed a few seconds later, but it didn’t quite work, the bed was too small and he ended up laying on top of Mickey. Mickey squirmed underneath him, flattening his back against the wall in an attempt to make more room, but to no avail. Ian’s bed just wasn’t built for two full-sized teenagers.

“You’re heavy,” Mickey whined. “Get off.” He shoved at Ian’s shoulders. Ian groaned and tumbled off the bed, landing unsteadily on his feet. Mickey sighed and stretched out on the bed, grinning up at Ian.

“Fine,” muttered Ian. “I’ll just sleep on the floor. It’s not like we were gonna cuddle or anything.”

Mickey looked mildly disappointed at that, but Ian knew there really wasn’t enough space on the bed for the both of them, so he grabbed a sleeping bag and set it on the floor next to his bed. He watched Mickey shift over in the bed, moving closer to the edge, his eyes drooping sleepily as he watched Ian lay out the sleeping bag.

“Thanks,” Mickey whispered, and Ian almost didn’t catch it over the sounds of sirens in the distance and dogs barking nearby and the other nighttime sounds that floated in through the window. “For, y’know. Letting me stay. For always letting me stay.”

Ian slipped into the sleeping bag and felt an indescribable amount of warmth towards the boy lying in his bed, who didn’t know how to talk about the way he felt, but somehow managed it anyways. Ian’s heart seized in his chest; he looked up at Mickey and nodded and smiled like a fucking idiot.

Mickey rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into Ian’s pillow, and he dangled a hand down over the side of the bed, reaching until he found Ian’s hair. He ran his hands through it a few times before stilling, leaving his fingers tangled at the top of Ian’s hair, his thumb resting against Ian’s forehead.

Ian fell asleep with the warmth of Mickey’s hand against his skin, so overwhelmingly in love with the boy it was attached to.


End file.
